If You Listen
by Mirror and Image
Summary: AU. [Complete] The desert prince Quatre is having problems in his kingdom. When his cousin the mountain prince offers some help; it includes an odd deafmute, who will change Quatre's life.


**If You Listen**  
Mirror and Image

* * *

"But father! We have to defend ourselves! Things have been deteriorated even faster over the years!"

"No! I will not tolerate fighting of any sort in my country. I am a pacifist. I will stay a pacifist! And no boy will tell me what to do otherwise. Do you understand?"

"But-"

"I said, 'Do you understand'."

"... Yes father."

"Good. Now leave. I have more important matters to discuss."

"Yes father."

* * *

"How did it go, Master Quatre?" a tall man asked.

"Not very well, Rashid," the youth sighed. The pale youth was sitting in his room, watching the glorious sunset that was bestowing itself upon the desert. The yellow sun was surrounded in a red sky, fading gently to the purple night. The sandy dunes had changed their color from a blinding gold to an indiscernible color. It was beautiful to watch, but somehow, Quatre couldn't bring himself to enjoy it.

"My prince, are you well?"

"Hn? Oh, yes. I am fine. It is just so infuriating trying to have a normal conversation with him. I used to have so many, but now they just deteriorate to the same topic." Quatre paused. "Deteriorate. You know, I used that same word to him trying to explain our political situation?"

"Did it work, Master Quatre?"

He sighed. "Of course not." Prince Quatre turned away from the sunset and faced his servant and bodyguard. "I do not think he realizes that I am a man now. I am seventeen. My cousin is going to be coroneted within the next few months. Soon even I will be old enough to ascend the throne."

"Is that what you want?" Rashid asked.

"No, not really. But he should realize that as a result of that fact that I am well educated. I know what I am talking about." The prince sighed and looked down. "He just doesn't see it." Suddenly very tired, Quatre flopped onto the cushions and pillows that made up his bed. The late summer breeze cooled his white skin, and Rashid quietly retreated, letting his master sleep.

* * *

The desert prince meandered through the halls of his father's castle, slightly bored. His lessons weren't for another hour, sword practice had been canceled, and it seemed that all the servants were busy doing this or that. Not really knowing what to do, Quatre took to wandering the halls, a childhood pastime way back when. It was not long before he found himself in the garden. Pausing, he looked up to its greenery. Suddenly feeling the childishness of his early years, the prince climbed up the tallest tree of the garden. He had not done so in years, and it felt good to be amongst the familiar branches and leaves.

The tree had been a gift to him from his cousin. His cousin's country had many trees and felt that he could spare a few seeds to give to Quatre's desert land. The pale prince had loved the gift, and made sure that the gardeners took good care of them, virtually creating the garden by himself. Sitting in the thick branches Quatre could think. A pastime he seemed to do more and more as he grew older and realized the turmoil his country was in.

The desert prince's father was a pacifist, which did him great credit, but from as early as the blond prince could remember, there was political turmoil. Someone did not like the Winner Dynasty, and sought the throne for him or herself. This person had caused many uprisings and upsets over the years. And Quatre could see them coming to a head. He knew that when push came to shove, he and his extended family would have to fight. And yet his father refused. The king's answer was to talk. For everything, the best solution was to talk. And as wise as that decision was, it was not always so wise.

"Master Quatre?"

"Yes Rashid?"

"You have received a letter from your cousin, Prince Duo. He requests your company in his homeland immediately."

Quatre blinked. _Blessed Allah that He has given me such fortune!_ he thought. _Now I can see my cousin and enjoy myself a little._ The prince quickly hopped down from his tree. "When are we to leave?"

"I have already made preparations for your departure tomorrow morning. Your cousin did say immediately."

"Yes, this is a good thing," the prince said. His mind raced at the possibilities. Seeing his cousin always made him more resilient when facing the home front. A vacation like this could prove quiet good for him. He had been getting a little pale as of late. "I cannot wait to see him again. It has been much too long."

"So I gather, Master Quatre. Your lessons will begin in a few minutes. Do you wish me to start packing?"

Quatre shook his head. "No, I will do that myself after lunch. I must go now, thank you Rashid!" he called as he jogged out of the gardens.

* * *

Two weeks later, the desert prince was in the homeland of his mountain counterpart. The blond boy had not seen his cousin for two years, and it was good to return to what had become his second home. Thankful to be off the ship and on the more solid land, Quatre was quick to saddle up and was soon trotting with Rashid through the snowy paths to Duo's castle. Of the entire journey, this was his favorite leg. The forest had a mystical silence about it, and it fascinated the young man. Quatre could not place it, but this forest reminded him of the desert.

The journey came to an end however, as Quatre and Rashid exited the forest and gazed upon the imposing mountain unto itself: the castle. Unlike Quatre's castle, Duo's was solid, firm, and dark. It had small windows and long, poorly lit corridors. It had a musky smell to it, and though the walls were very thick, there was little insulation. Not even the ornately decorated tapestries could warm the dank halls. But it was Duo's home, and with him inside, things seemed much better off.

The pair entered the castle and dismounted their horses. Rashid stayed back to talk with the servants while Quatre ran up to meet his cousin and best friend. Barely noticing the long flights of stairs, the desert prince quickly found his way to the mountain prince's favorite room-the throne room. He paused long enough to asked the man at the doors if the prince was in. The servant nodded and Quatre, ginning widely, burst into the room.

"DUO!" The blond prince ran toward his cousin.

"Hey! Quat' my man! What's-HEY!" Before the warning could register, however, Quatre saw a dark shadow shoot out from seemingly nowhere. Without memory of how he got there, the pale prince found himself on the floor, on his back, staring at the tip of a wicked looking sword of some type punctuating his neck. Holding the blade was a boy of about his age, in an odd costume. He had dark hair and a piercing set of cobalt eyes.

"Oi! Hee-kun!" Duo said in an odd tongue. "Yamero! Baka! Kataru desu! OI, YAMETE!"

The costumed boy turned to the braided prince, continuing the conversation in the odd language that Quatre could not recognize. Finally, Duo began speaking more normally.

"Do that again and I'll have to hurt you."

The blue-eyed boy relented his sword with an unimpressed "Hn," and slipped back into the shadows. Duo turned to his cousin.

"Sorry about that. Heero-kun tends to be a little high strung. Very anal." He offered his hand and Quatre gratefully took it, rubbing his precious neck in anxiety.

"Just who, or what was that?"

"Oh," Duo said. "That's Heero-kun. Hang on, I'll introduce you."

"Oh, no. That's quiet alright."

But Duo did not listen as his eyes scanned the room. The desert prince did the same, nervous as to where the youth would next pop up. The braided prince pointed to an un-offensive pillar and called, "Oi! Hee-kun! Doko doko?"

There was an annoyed grunt and lo, right where the mountain prince was pointing, the cobalt-eyed warrior stepped out. "Come introduce yourself!" Duo prompted.

The boy bowed to the floor, obviously annoyed. He said, "Watashi no name wa Yuy Heero desu. Hajimashite."

Quatre gulped and took a guess at what Duo's friend had said. "It is an honor to meet you as well, Hajima ... Hamishi ... uhm. I am gland to make your acquaintance," he said instead.

"Yuy. Yuy Heero."

"Oh." Quatre flushed at the mistake. "Yuy Heero. I am Prince Quatre Raberba Winner."

"Kataru Rabaaba Winaa. So desu." The youth looked to Duo.

"Oh, alright, you can go back to playing bodyguard. Shoo, shoo!" Another bow, and he was gone. Duo turned to his cousin. "Isn't he awesome?"

Quatre put his hand back to his throat. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"I found him about a couple years ago on this little island nation, practically on the other side of the world. He's the most fascinating person I've ever come across. So I brought him with us on the way back."

Quatre almost didn't ask his next question. "And how did you do that? He does not seem like the type to do as others say."

Duo smiled. "That was the fun part. I beat him in ritual combat."

Quatre almost fell to the floor. "You WHAT?"

The braided prince shrugged, an evil grin on his face. "What can I say? No extended no-datchi in the world can match up to my scythe Deathscythe."

Quatre nodded. "I see."

Duo grinned again. "So let's try this again. Ahem. Hey! Quat' my man! What's uuuuuuuuuup?"

The pair soon fell into their more natural rhythm with each other and it was not long before the incident was forgotten.

"So, what's new in your kingdom?" the mountain prince asked.

Quatre hung his head. "Same old same old. Father refuses to listen to me, and the country's getting to be in dire straits. We are this close to an economical crash, the people are actually starting to believe the rumors that are circulating about our family, we have been getting protests and strikes for the last six months, and now WE have been hearing rumors of the people beginning to arm themselves!"

Duo whistled. "Man. That is harsh! And your dad still won't listen to reason?"

Quatre sighed. "Not in the slightest. It is so frustrating. If I can just get him to listen for two minutes, I am sure I could get my point across. He forgets that I will be eighteen in a few months. Only two years to my coming of age. Why can he not realize that!" The desert prince took a deep breath. "I am sorry. I should not be unloading all my problems on you. So how are things going with you?"

There was a pause as Duo looked at his cousin for a long, serious moment. Then he just smiled. "Things are goin' pretty good around here. We got a whole bunch of new servants over last winter, and some of them are just plain awesome. Oh! I gotta tell you. There's this one girl, Catherine. She came from this circus right? She's about the best damned knife thrower out there! It's so cool! She has the absolute best accuracy; I mean, she can hit a bull's-eye dead center from like twenty feet away. She rocks! Man, you gotta see her. Oi! Hee-kun!" Duo pointed to a dark corner of the room. A disgruntled bodyguard stepped forward. "I love doing that to him," he whispered to his cousin before turning back to the kimono-clad youth. "Could you find that Cathy girl and ask if she'll perform tonight at dinner? I want to introduce her to my cousin here."

"Hai."

The bodyguard disappeared once again into the shadows, an annoyed scowl upon his otherwise smooth face.

Quatre looked to Duo. "Are new servants the only new thing with you? That cannot be right, as your father King Maxwell loves getting into trouble!"

"Too true! Too true! Ol' father Maxwell is starting to take a very unhealthy in some foreign policy. Normally, I'll grant you, that's not a bad thing."

"Especially where your father is concerned."

"Yup! But the thing is the country he's starting to take interest in."

"Really? Which country?"

Duo took a deep breath. "Yours."

The desert prince came very close to performing a facefault. "My FATHER'S country? Why?"

The mountain prince shrugged. "You said it yourself, that oasis of yours is getting in to some very serious sh-"

"Duo!"

"Stuff. And father Maxwell just can't ignore family. He's already started to arrange to loan you some substantial funds, not to mention a small army of advisors to help him do stuff."

Quatre sighed. " It is not like he will listen to them. Or accept the money."

Duo smiled. "Well, I'm getting coroneted next week. I'll just send it as a gift to you. You can use it however you want."

The pale prince blinked. "Your coronation was moved up? When? How? Oh, I get it! That was why you sent me the letter, correct?"

This time it was the braided prince's turn to blink. "What letter? Father Maxwell informed your dad about it, true. But he didn't expect you to come with all the trouble you guys are having. Hey, Quat? What's wrong?"

The young prince had lowered his head, placing his small fists on his knees and tried with losing difficulty to stop shaking.

"It was all a rouse," he whispered.

"What?"

"My father made up the letter to get me out of the country for a few months. He lied to me on purpose! I cannot believe this! I am so ANGRY at him!"

The mountain prince sighed. "I'm sorry, Quat. I didn't know. Hey, do you want me to escort you to your room?"

The desert cousin took a deep breath, controlling his anger with practiced ease. "No, it is alright. I know the way by heart. And besides, I need some time to think."

Duo smiled, concern still written in his eyes. "Understood."

* * *

The desert prince wandered through the halls, his mind deep in thought as he silently fumed about what his father had done to him. A man of such honor, of such high ideals and morals, had lied to his own son. His own son! How could he do that? What was he thinking? Obviously not of Prince Quatre's feelings. But then again, he rarely did. This was just another step towards the distance that the desert prince could feel coming between him and his father. It had started long ago, when Quatre was barely thirteen. It had been the first time he had expressed his views of the political situation to his father. The king had not taken it well. And things just went spiraling downhill from there. It was to the point where nowadays, the prince hardly ever talked to his father, even though he wanted to do so desperately. But more and more the king refused to grant the audience. And Quatre was starting to feel lonely.

The princes thought were interrupted, however. As he turned a narrow corner he saw at the last possible second a blur of brown hair. The prince stopped, raising to his toes trying to avoid the collision. But that was not meant to be and there was a resounding crash. For the second time that day, the young blond found himself on his back wondering what had happened. Still slightly weary of the Heero incident, the prince sat up slowly, keeping himself very alert. On the ground next to him was not Heero, however. It was a different boy, this one wearing a servant's uniform. His back was to the prince as he quickly tried to gather up a menagerie of paper that had scattered several feet down the hall.

"I am sorry," Quatre said. "That was entirely my fault. Are you alright?"

The servant did not answer, merely continuing his task of collecting the fallen papers.

Quatre spoke up, knowing he sometimes had a tendency to be soft-spoken. "I said, 'are you alright'. I am sorry if I hurt you." There was still not response from the servant. He seemed to completely ignore the prince as he feverishly picked up the sheets of paper. Still upset about his father and confused as to this boy's rudeness, Quatre understandably became a little miffed. The blond reached out and touched the servants shoulder. "I asked you a question!" he said forcefully.

The boy turned at that and for the first time, the desert prince saw the servant's face. Prince Quatre looked into the sharpest, most startling pair of green eyes he had ever seen. They were large, framed by long curved lashes, with a dead, almost sad expression to them. His face curved at sharp angles, giving the servant a hard look. His messy, wood brown hair fell like a waterfall down his face, almost totally hiding half of it.

Quatre blinked, stunned by this boys odd beauty. "I-I apologize," he stuttered. "That was my fault."

The servant shook his head but let Quatre continue.

"Are you alright?"

The boy nodded, and stood, neatening his armload of papers and running a hand quickly through his thick bangs.

Quatre stood as well, dusting off the seat of his pants. He looked again to the servant. "Are you sure?"

The boy nodded again. Quatre found it strange that this young servant wouldn't answer him directly. "What is your name?" Perhaps that question would receive a more vocal reply. And at the very least Quatre could ask about him to Duo. He knew every servant in this castle by first name.

The boy, instead of answering, made a fist with his right hand, placing his thumb between his index and middle fingers. He raised the hand to his face and held it just under his chin. The foreign prince merely looked on, confused as to what the boy was getting at. But before the desert noble could further question the servant, he bowed and jogged down the hall, a confident air in his stride.

The prince watched him disappear into the dark halls before he himself left for his room.

* * *

Later that evening, Quatre rejoined his cousin Duo and various members of the mountain prince's family as they had dinner. A banquet may have been a more appropriate word, perhaps. There was roasted deer, pig, several turkey and chickens and other birds, huge bowls of water and milk based soups, vegetables that were cut, tossed, mashed and boiled. It was a veritable overkill to the mouths of the people dining. That didn't stop them from eating, though.

The conversation was loud and cheerful, the epitome of Prince Duo himself, who was the loudest and most cheerful of them all. Since their youth, Duo had always made a spectacle of himself during dinner. About halfway through the meal, though, he stood up onto the table and raised his hands. It took several minutes, but everybody gradually gave his or her attention to him.

"Wow!" he said. "That actually worked!" There was various laughter, but it died quickly as Duo spoke again. "The only reason I'm interrupting this absolutely delicious meal is that I want to personally introduce tonight's entertainment, since my best friend and cousin, Prince Quatre has not seen this death defying beauty. Her name is Catherine Bloom, ladies and gents! And let her dazzle you with her abilities!" There was a general cheering as Duo sat down and started to dig into his meal again. The candle light dimmed, and then brightened to reveal a tall woman of about twenty, bowing before the table which everyone sat.

"My lord gives an excellent introduction, sire," she said. "One would think that you were a ringmaster of the circus from whence I came." Catherine had a curly mass of brownish hair, sweeping over her head and neck; held back only by a few colored feathers in her hair. Her costume was formfitting and bright, a contrast to Duo's favorite color of black, and she appeared to have a thin figure of health and dexterity.

The performer stood, revealing a smooth face with gentle, violet eyes. She had a sharp chin and creamy skin. A color that seemed very familiar to Quatre for some reason. She smiled warmly and looked to her audience. "And who among you has the courage to be my victim? I mean, my apprentice?" She pulled out a handful of knives, all very long and all very deadly looking. She turned to the mountain prince. "I hope my lord does not mind, but I took the liberty of taking some of your cook's kitchen knives. These blades can cut through the flesh of the toughest boar, even break the creatures bones with its metallic strength. Who would be my assistant?"

Several coughs and mutters replied the entertainer, until once again Duo stood up onto the table. He turned his head around until he pointed to a rafter. "Oi! Hee-kun! Doko ni imasu ka? Koko ni kite kudasai!"

"Omae o korosu!" was the Prince's reply (from the rafters) and no bodyguard emerged.

"Fine! Be that way!" Duo looked to Catherine. He took a deep breath. "Alright milady! I volunteer to be your victim!" He hopped down from his perch and rolled, coming up right in front of the entertainer. "As you see, I also have some skill."

Catherine grinned. "But can you dodge my knives? Forgive me my lord, but I would not risk my future king." Duo blinked in surprise.

"But I-"

"My brother will gladly take your place, sire, and embrace all the dangers you are foolish enough not to fear."

Laughter erupted from the tables. Even the reserved desert prince could not help himself as his crestfallen cousin slumped back into his chair.

"You had that coming, Duo."

"Well, yeah. But still. I was all set and everything!"

Several shushes quieted the pair as Catherine's brother came from his place in the shadows. Quatre recognized him immediately.

"That boy!" he whispered. The candle light dimmed again, leaving Catherine and her brother in a circle of light.

Duo looked to his cousin. "What? You know him?"

"Yes. Well, no. I mean, I ran into him today, literally. Do you know his name?"

Duo looked to the boy, his face etched in concentration. "Give me a minute. It'll come to me." Quatre did so and in the meantime watched the performance. Catherine was indeed a skillful performer as well as a knife thrower. She played the audience like a harp, throwing the blades with apparent clumsiness, embedding them in the board several feet from her brother's form. She tossed her knives almost negligently, missing the servant my mere inches.

"Hey, Hilde," Duo's voice whispered. Quatre looked to his cousin. The mountain prince's advisor walked silently over to the pair.

"What's that boy's name?"

Hilde looked to the boy, thinking for a moment. "You know, I don't know. I can't think of anyone who's even had a conversation with him other than his sister Catherine. And she gets very defensive when someone talks about him."

Quatre blinked. _Not even Hilde knows that boys name? It's a feat for Duo not to know, but it's an impossibility for Hilde!_ The desert prince looked again to the boy, fascination written on his pale face. Who is he? It was time for the final act. Catherine's brother had blindfolded her and stood perfectly still against the board that they used. His arms were open, parallel to the floor. His face was blank. No emotion registered on his hard face, not even fear. Quatre was intrigued.

The first throw of the knife was on target, landing centimeters away from the servant's shoulder. Next, Catherine pulled out eight knives, four per hand. Several members of the dinner table quickly excused themselves. The performer took her time, letting the silence deafen the audience as she prepared her strike. Then, quicker than anyone could see, the knives were gone from her hand. Everybody looked over to the brother. The knives were all there! The board was covered with the knives, following the contour of the servant's lean body. Slowly he pulled away from the board and bowed. There was an uproar from the audience, and Catherine ate it up, happy to be back in the role of entertainer.

Duo clapped particularly loud. "Bravo! Encore! Sugoi! That was totally awesome Cathy!"

The knife thrower bowed. "It was an honor, my future king."

Duo laughed. "I can't believe it! And your brother was totally amazing! He just stood there! Very cool." Duo paused, acting as if he were in thought. "Incidentally, Cathy, just what _is_ your bro's name? I was trying to recall it during the performance, but I can't quite remember it. And I make it a point to be on a first name basis with everyone here."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "My brothers name is Triton, sire. But I've always called him Trowa."

Quatre looked to the servant. "Trowa?"

The boy nodded in acknowledgement.

Duo, meanwhile, continued talking. "I was also wondering what job we'd assigned him. I like to know what servants are doing what. It helps when I need to ask for help."

"My brother serves my lord. Is that not enough, sire?"

Duo blinked. "Hey, chill. I was just asking." He looked to the servant. "Hey, Trowa, where do you work?"

The servant made a series of odd gestures with his hands.

Duo just blinked again. Even Quatre was blinking.

"My brother is a runner, sire."

Quatre looked to the servant, suddenly understanding something. "You can't speak, can you?" It was a statement, not a question.

Trowa nodded, and then pointed to his ears.

"My brother cannot speak, nor can he hear, my lords," Catherine said, acid laced in her voice. "What will you do about it? Cast him out? Ridicule him? Beat him? It is not his fault! He was sick as a child, and the price for his health was his silence; do not dare discredit him! He is as smart as any of you! He-"

Her emotional speech was interrupted as Trowa placed a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head and made more of those odd gestures.

"But Trowa..."

Again, he shook his head. Catherine lowered her head and was silent. Trowa turned to the desert prince and maid more movements with his hands. They were fluid and confident, brought about with practiced ease. The pale prince looked at the boy in confusion. He sensed that Trowa was trying to say something important, yet he could not understand the speech he was using. He looked to Catherine.

"May I ask what he's saying, Miss Catherine?"

"He was apologizing for my tirade, saying that I have always been very protective of him because of what others have called him. He says he is honored to have people of high stature so interested in him, and that he will do his best to please. To prince Duo he says he works as a runner. He carries papers back and forth throughout the castle."

Duo smiled. "Hey! That's great! Hey, Trowa my man, anytime you see some papers that look suspicious, could you bring'em on over to me? There's been some fraud going on for the last few months; and I wanna get to the bottom of it."

The brother shook his head and made more signs.

Catherine translated. "He says that he would do so gladly, were it not for the fact that he cannot read."

The two princes blinked. The mountain prince spoke up. "Why on earth not? Both father Maxwell and myself made it a point to have everyone in the castle at the very least literate. If not educated."

Quatre turned to his cousin. "But how can one teach a person who is deaf and dumb?"

"My brother is NOT dumb!" Cathy shouted, gathering the attention of the other dinner guests. "My brother is smarter than any of you! If you would just listen to him you would hear what he has to say! How dare you call Trowa dumb!"

The desert prince flushed in embarrassment. "I apologize, Miss Catherine. In my country, people who cannot speak are called dumb. It has nothing to do with his intelligence. I sense that he is indeed as knowledgeable as you say; else he would not be able to understand our speech. I did not mean to insult him." He turned to the silent boy. "I am sorry, Trowa."

The boy nodded. He then pointed to the curious onlookers. Quatre understood what he was getting at without any further deliberation. He looked to Duo. "It seems we've drawn a crowd," he whispered.

Duo nodded. "I saw it earlier. Don't mind them. They know I tend to shoot my mouth off and annoy people. They'll think nothing of it. Besides, dinner is almost over."

* * *

Over the next several days, Quatre and Trowa kept running into each other, though now this time not quite as literally. Apparently, Trowa's more common running routes were through the guest quarters. Catherine accompanied him on occasion, and acted as interpreter when the youth had something to say. The pair became fairly close, and it was not long before Quatre asked a question.

"Trowa, your sister said that you cannot read. Is that correct?"

The servant nodded.

"Well, do you want me to teach you?"

Trowa blinked. Quatre, who by now was starting to learn how to look past Trowa's rather blank expressions, saw that he was confused.

"Is it such a difficult question?" the desert prince asked. "I am well versed in several languages, and have been reading since I was three. I do not know how good a teacher I will be, but I would hate to see you not know the joys of reading. It is like when you use your hands. Certain gestures for you mean certain words. Letters in a certain orders also mean words. I don't think that it would be so hard. Will you let me teach you?"

A blink. An ever so slight furl of the brow. Trowa was thinking. The eyes became distant, the face became soft. Then, a slight curve of the lips. And a nod. Trowa agreed.

The desert prince smiled. "Thank you. I do not know how much I can teach you, as I will be leaving soon. But I will teach you as much as I can!"

Another nod.

* * *

The next day was prince Duo's coronation. It was a lavish event, with everyone dressed in his or her finest and richest clothes. Even the servants, who were not required to wear anything fancy, had dressed up in honor of their friendly prince. The ceremony itself was long and boring, but afterward the party lasted for several hours as everyone tried to shake the new kings hand and look at his crown.

But even Duo had his limits. The now mountain king managed to slip away from the crowd and hooked up with the desert prince and his newest friend, the deaf servant. The pair were in Quatre's room, huddled over a table and a small pile of paper.

Quatre looked up to the newly coroneted king. "Congratulation, my king!" he said formally.

"Not you too!" the braided king whined. "Tell me at least you will keep calling me just Duo!"

Quatre laughed. "Of course! My king."

Duo made an unpleasant noise and plopped down next to his cousin. "So. Wacha doin'?"

"I am trying to teach Trowa how to read."

Duo blinked. "For real? How's he doing?"

Trowa, who had been oblivious to the conversation, handed a piece of paper to the desert prince. Duo snatched it from his hands, however, and read it out loud.

" 'My name is T.' Hey, I thought it was Trowa. 'I am eighteeen years olld.' A few spelling mistakes there. What else? 'And I will go with Q.' Who's Q?"

Quatre flushed. "That is me!" he exclaimed. He looked to the green eyed servant. "You want to come with me?"

A nod. And then more gestures.

"Man, I wish Cathy was here," Duo muttered. "And besides, why the T and the Q?"

The desert prince, torn between two conversations, looked to the mountain king first. "In his language, he uses certain signs to mean names. The T raised to his chin is his name, a C held at his heart is Catherine. And a Q by his cheek is me. And Trowa just said," Quatre added, turning to the servant, "that he wants to know if it is okay to come with me. Is that right?"

A nod.

Duo blinked. "Don't tell my _you're_ starting to understand him?"

Quatre turned to his cousin. "Well, yes. A little bit. I have been teaching him to read, and he has been teaching me to speak. I am not very good though."

Trowa knocked on the table to get his attention, and then shook his head. He pointed to Quatre and made to movements with his hands.

"Meaning?" Duo asked.

"That I am all right," Quatre replied. "I am beginning to wish Catherine was hear. I am having trouble holding two conversations at once. And I am still so shocked that Trowa is willing to leave your kingdom to come with me. I have told him about the problems we are having, yet you are still willing to come."

Trowa nodded and looked to the mountain king, making more movements with his hands.

Smiling nervously, he glanced to his cousin. "Translation, please?"

Quatre smiled. "He is asking permission to leave your country and to go with me. He is very formal about such matters."

Duo nodded and stood up. "In that case, my first royal decree is that Trowa accompanies my cousin, prince Quatre to his far off desert land. He is allowed to bring what and whomever he wants, and all expenses will be paid out of my pocket! May you learn much from that distant culture, and enjoy the benefits of the sunny day that is so rare in these mountains!" He looked to Quatre. "Was that a formal enough reply?"

That sent both of them into peels of laughter. Even the silent Trowa was smiling.

* * *

It was late winter in Duo's country, and because of that the currents were too dangerous to journey back home over the sea. So Prince Quatre, Rashid, Trowa, Catherine, and company instead went over land. Quatre personally preferred the land to the sea, as it was more solid and constant. And he loved traversing the snowy silence of Duo's forested mountain kingdom. It was a sight very different from his blazing desert at home. There was a stillness in the air; a kind of frozen quiet that calmed the desert prince. The green-eyed servant Trowa also seemed at peace in the forest. The youth blended into it with his bark colored hair and pine needle eyes. With the light snow that frosted his features, he seemed almost one with the trees. A forest prince in his element. Quatre made this observation to Trowa and the youth gave a faint smile.

:I was born in woods like these. And I hope that in such a beautiful place is where I die.: he said. :There is a mysticism about the forest. An air of elegance that I have not found anywhere else. This is my home, more than any village or castle. More so than even Catherine I think would understand.:

Quatre nodded in agreement as he watched the snowfall.

By sea, it took only two weeks to go from home and back. By land, however, it took two months. But it was a journey well enjoyed by the entire party. Despite the cold winter chill the "forest prince" was able to show people just how beautiful a forest was at that time of year. Via Quatre and Catherine's translations, Trowa was able to point out various animals as the made their homes, gathered foods, and talked to each other. The green-eyed youth explained how it was that trees became smaller in the higher elevations, and why deer ate tree bark in such cold months.

Also during the journey, Trowa and Quatre continued to learn from each other. The forest prince read through all the books that Quatre had brought along, and the desert prince soon was able to read and understand Trowa better even than his own sister. Through Trowa, Quatre slowly began to know what it truly meant to listen to a person. To read their body language and expressions. Through Quatre, Trowa learned all the different ways people talked to each other. The different languages and styles of writing and types of slang.

The journey seemed all too short as the traveling party crossed the last mountain and entered a much warmer climate. Trowa gazed with awe at the sight that lay before him. Beyond his beautiful green bushes and tall trees was a vast ocean of golden sand. It was something neither he nor his sister had seen before.

:What is it?": he asked.

"That is my home," Quatre stated. "That is the desert."

The party stopped as a small trading post and switched from horses to camels, a beast that Catherine and her brother approached with some apprehension. Much to the amusement of their companions.

"The camel will not bite you," Quatre said to the knife thrower. "He is a gentle beast who can roam such a large desert with very little water.

"But," Cathy said. "He is huge! And ugly like nothing else I've seen! Surely such a monstrosity cannot be as kind as you claim?"

Quatre laughed. "Watch," he replied. The desert prince walked up to the camel and placed his hand on the creatures nose. "Hey, boy. Could you do me a favor and stand up, please? I want to show you to someone." The camel nuzzled the prince's hand and did as he was told. Catherine gave a yelp as the camel reached its true height and calmly walked over to her. Trowa, not far away, gazed in quiet awe.

"You see? He likes you!" The camel lowered his head and liked the performers face, resulting in a shriek from said woman and a very different hairstyle. The beast merely shook his head and nuzzled by his laughing master.

After some of the giggling had subsided, Quatre handed the siblings more appropriate clothing to wear and the group set off again. During this last leg of the journey, Quatre became very quiet as he carefully examined the state of his kingdom. The trading posts had gotten smaller, and there were less quality items to take. And while the people put on a happy face for their prince, he could see the discontent in their eyes. Something had happened when he was away. Something big enough that even the nomad traders were looking at royalty with a weary eye.

The forest prince touched the desert prince's sleeve. :Quatre:

:Yes: Quatre answered in Trowa's form of speech.

:Why do these people look at you with disgust and hatred:

:I am uncertain, Trowa. My country has never been in the greatest of political states. The Winners came to power when an old and beloved ruler had died. And we were just as loved for several hundred years. But for as long as I can remember, someone has been pulling strings and causing uprisings. Only radicals would follow him. People in cities and in lower standings. Now even the indifferent nomads look upon my family with caution. I do not know why.:

:Are you a distant monarchy? Does the public see you little and know you little:

:No. We have made it a point to be very open with everyone in my country. In the desert, you tell people when you find an oasis else those people will die. It is a way of survival.:

:So you give back to the people the benefits of your power? If you have earned a surplus, do you give some of it back to the poor? The weary:

Quatre paused, thinking. :I always thought that we did. But I do not know the exact finances of our family. Unfortunately, I am not yet king. Only upon my coronation will I know for sure. That is the law.:

Trowa nodded, he himself deep in thought.

"Master Quatre, what is all that signing about?" Rashid asked.

Quatre looked to his bodyguard. "Trowa was asking about our country. He was curious if our family gives back some of the profit that we reap. I know we do have a huge profit; but do we give back the excess to the people?"

Rashid thought about it. "I am not sure myself. Only the king ever knows where exactly all the money comes from and goes. Should I ask him?"

The desert prince shook his head sadly. "No, you better not. He shall have another fit if he finds out that I am asking about something forbidden to know."

The rest of the journey was quiet. Quatre entered the city with little ceremony and quickly made his way to the castle. His castle was much better than his cousin's in his opinion. It was very open, with huge windows and balconies that let in the entire day's worth of light. It had billowing, light drapes and elegant towers; with wide, well lit hallways and huge rooms with ceilings dozens of feet off the ground. As much as he loved visiting Duo, this was home.

* * *

It took a few days for everyone to get settled, particularly Catherine and Trowa who were not used to such hot weather.

Prince Quatre did not want to make them work, as he considered them his quests. But Rashid pointed out that they were servants and must be treated as such. Reluctantly, Quatre pondered as to what job would earn them the most pay. He did not think that his father would enjoy a knife thrower or an entertainer. At least not of a different culture. She had proved her self a good cook, however, and he installed her as such. That decision proved to be a wise one, as the other women of the kitchen were fascinated by her and soon very welcomed by them. Trowa was more difficult, however. Quatre did not feel that a runner was a good enough position with one as intelligent and insightful as Trowa. At the same time, his inability to speak made the more suitable jobs impossible. Neither Quatre nor Catherine could teach an entire country just what the movement of hands meant.

Then an idea came to him, and he reported to his father.

"How was the trip?"

"It was good father. Duo's coronation went smoothly and he is now properly installed as the new king."

"Very good. I know how fond of your cousin you are."

"Yes, father. As his first royal decree, he gave me two of his servants that I had gotten to know during my stay. They are Catherine and her brother Trowa."

"Yes, I saw them when you entered the castle. What roles will they play?"

"Catherine is pleased in her new station as cook. She does a fine job and gets along well with the others."

"And the other?"

"Trowa I wish to make my personal assistant."

"What?"

"Father, I will be king in two years time. I must do everything I can in preparation of that event. I must start to gather around me a circle of trusted advisors who will aid me in my most difficult decisions. Trowa is my first choice, as he is intelligent and insightful. My second choice is Rashid, my bodyguard. He is strong and wise. The closer I come to my twentieth birthday, the more I will be introduced to your circle, and from them my circle will grow." The prince looked up. "Do you approve, father?"

King Winner looked to the desert prince with narrow eyes. "What is it that you are not telling me?"

"Nothing, father."

"Where is this Trowa now?"

"He is in his quarters. It is taking him time to adjust to our hot climate, as he has lived in forests all his life."

"And what does he know of our country?"

"During our journey home I have told him everything that I know, and he has learned much by watching our people."

The king once again looked down at the youth kneeling before him. His eyes were still narrow. "There is still something that you are not telling me. But I will allow this game of yours. If he proves to be a good advisor and assistant to you, then I will permit it. Do you understand?"

"Yes father."

And so it was.

* * *

Months passed, and Trowa and Quatre soon became inseparable. It was rumored that the two shared a secret language that only they knew. And Trowa's quiet nature became infamous. Several servants tried several times to get him to talk, but to no avail. No one thought that the youth could not hear nor could he speak. His intelligence and advise to the desert prince was invaluable. The green eyed servant could slip into a room unnoticed, observe the happenings even if the conversations were held at whispers, and report back to his prince. It was not long before Quatre was more informed about the goings on of his kingdom than even his father.

The king did not like that one bit.

He frequently called in the prince and demanded that he stop interfering with the running of the kingdom. He was not king yet, so there was no need for him to be "curious" about the government.

Quatre was able to counter; saying that _because_ he was to be king that he must have as much knowledge in advance as possible, lest he enter this monarchy in total confusion as to his duties. It was especially important, the desert prince said, in such time of political turmoil.

King Winner could do nothing against that argument, though he tried many different paths. Most of them focused around Trowa, claiming that a foreigner cannot possibly understand the protocols and taboos of their desert kingdom.

To this prince Quatre heatedly defended his assistant, saying that the "forest prince", as he had come to be known, had a keener sense of "protocol and taboos" than most aristocrats, let alone commoners. And the servant reported consistently that it was the aristocrats who seemed to fuel the political catastrophe that had been falling around their ears, especially of late.

Winner would then scream to Quatre that a servant could know nothing of the aristocratic class, and that the perpetual crisis that was their kingdom began with the merchants and the traders, not the noblemen.

On this point, the desert prince was well armed, desperately pointing out various disservices that each and every nobleman outside of their family did to the people in their own estates, let alone the populous of their holdings. Nobility was not a birth right, Quatre would say in a pleading voice. And it was time that they start giving titles to those worthy of it. It was a possible solution to the countries problem.

It was there that their by now scream fest degenerated to incoherency. This argument was continued at almost regular intervals, leaving both the king and the prince more and more distant with each other.

It was after such an argument that Quatre found himself staring at a glorious sunset that was bestowing itself upon the desert. The yellow sun was surrounded in a red sky, fading gently to the purple night. The sandy dunes had changed their color from a blinding gold to an indiscernible color. It was beautiful to watch, but somehow, Quatre couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. He felt as though he had come full circle. It was a sunset like this and an argument like this that had started him on this path. Because of Trowa's reports, he now had a much better idea of what to do when he ascended the throne. Before he had be upset because he could not make his father see. Now he was upset because he did not thing his country would last the two years until his coronation.

Quatre looked down over the edge of his balcony. Below him was the garden that he had begun as a child, and in it he could see Trowa. It was undoubtedly the forest prince's favorite part of the castle, as it reminded him of the greenery of his home that he loved so much. The youth looked up from the tree he had been sitting in and waved to his prince, his eyes bright in the sun's dying light. Quatre gave a weak smile in return and beckoned him to come up.

Trowa, still the acrobat of his performer days, climbed up the tree with natural dexterity. Reaching the top, he jumped off of its branches, reaching a great height, and managed to get a handhold of Quatre's balcony and lifted himself up.

Quatre blinked. Trowa was always so full of surprises. A brief smile touched his lips before Quatre lead the silent servant into his room, flopping defeatedly onto the pillows of his bed. Trowa sat in front of him; a habit that allowed him to talk and listen to the desert prince with greater ease.

:Do I assume correctly that the summons to your father did not go very well:

:Quite correct, I'm afraid. No sooner do I enter a room that he begins to yell at me.:

:I can always stop gathering the information. That appears to be the root of your conflict, and I would not want to be the reason you and your father fight.:

:I appreciate that, Trowa, and I thank you. But this has been going on long before you decided to come with me. Things have only gotten worse because now I am more informed and can give better arguments. And the fact that I no longer care if he is upset about me. I am more concerned about just fixing everything once I get to the throne.:

:One may describe that as an appropriate attitude for a king. The ability to put his personal feelings aside to rule his country.:

:Do you think that:

:No. I have found in my experience that a king must be a compassionate man. He must be strong willed in his decisions, but gentle and kind when he makes them. In leadership, there is no black and white. There are several hard decisions to make, and there are no easy answers. You are beginning to see that in its most extreme; so that in the future you will reflect upon these days and things will become easier. Never loose your compassion, Quatre. It is what will make you a good king.:

:Thank you. I needed to hear that. Tell me, what do you think of my father:

:I find that he is indeed very compassionate and strong willed. But I do not feel that he is open to change. He has been to set in the ways of tradition and he is too willing to look the other way. He does not like being proven wrong, and will do anything to avoid such a conclusion. He is a very insecure man. And to have his own son go against his beliefs must be very unnerving.:

Quatre looked to the forest prince. :I had never thought about it like that. He gets so mad and so loud. It is hard to think of him as insecure.:

Trowa gave a small smile. :Then perhaps I am at an advantage. I cannot tell if he is loud or quiet. But I can see his face. His face is red in anger, and his mouth is open in rage. But his eyes are wide in shock. I watch him fight with you, and I see it is harder and harder for him to ignore your points of persuasion. He is afraid of being wrong, perhaps because he feels that it means he's failed his kingdom.:

The desert prince frowned. :Why are there never any truly bad people? Why cannot anything ever be as simple as right or wrong? I do not wish to worry my father so much, but the weight of the crown is on my shoulders and I haven't even worn it yet. I am too aware of how scared my people are and how much they want an end to this turmoil.: There was a pause, as the two young men sat in their thoughts. One worried about his kingdom and his family, the other was concerned about his prince.

:Tell me something: Quatre said. :How is it that you can see so deeply into people:

Trowa blinked, surprised at the question. :I suppose it is at least in part because I cannot hear. I can instead 'listen' to people in other ways. I see how they react to things said, and then how others react to what he says. I watch their face, their body language, where they are, whether they are standing or sitting. I look at the people he is talking to. Are they weary of that person? Are they nervous? Or just uncertain. Do these people meet this man often? What are their opinions of this person? Then back to the person do I look, repeating the process all over again.:

Quatre whistled despite himself. :I never realized that you did all that. How can you keep track of it all:

The forest prince shrugged. :I always have. It was how I survived in some of the more brutal places my sister and I have lived. And Catherine has always told me that I have an eye for detail. I observe more by nature than choice I think. It is as much an instinct for me as... as you being able to find an oasis.:

The desert prince nodded. :It is part inbred quality, part need to survive. I can certainly relate.:

:There are down sides though. The price of my observation is that I cannot communicate it to just anyone. And I am denied the pleasure of listening to people's voices.:

Quatre smiled. :You do not miss much, Trowa. All you would hear are people yelling to each other and lying to each other and otherwise making noise.:

Trowa shook his head. :You mistook my meaning. I have never heard what your voice sounds like. But I know from how people act when you speak that you have a beautiful voice.:

A blush. :Really:

A nod. :And I will never know what my voice sounds like. I have tried and tried to use it. But I feel no vibration in my neck, as Cathy tells me that you feel. It is a shame that I cannot hear.:

Prince Quatre shook his head. :But you can hear in so many other ways, Trowa! Take me for an example. I talk to you more than I talk to anyone. Even Rashid and my sisters. They have noticed that I have become very quiet. It is not because I have less to say, but instead because I have learned to keep opinions to myself until I am certain of their validity. When I speak, it is not idle chatter of an uninformed mind, but rather the calculated speech of one who knows what he is talking about. I can 'hear' so much more because of you Trowa. You have truly taught me how to listen.:

Trowa smiled. :And you have taught me much as well. I had lived a very small life before I met you. Even under prince Duo's care, people paid me very little attention. My sister was my only family. And there were time when she was very tired of the fight she took on for me. I do not hold it against her, but it would always hurt. This was how I learned to be invisible, and how I gathered information. But it was not enough. Never enough. Then I met you. Quatre, you changed my world. People look up to me. They respect me. Even I respect myself now. I may have given you abilities, but you gave me purpose.:

The desert prince smiled as tears filed his eyes. He was so touched! He had never known how indebted the forest prince had felt toward him. Quatre had never realized how much he had given Trowa. Nor had he realized until just then how close he felt to this silent boy who could speak such volumes.

:Is it not funny: he said finally. :That I feel closer to you than I do even to my own family:

A shrug. :Perhaps. Perhaps not. We are alike, you and I. We both have talents. Gifts. And we wish to use them to benefit people. We are very kind in that sense. But we are hindered. I by my inability to communicate with most people. You by your tradition bound father. You will surpass your handicap in less than two years time. I have taught Catherine and I have taught you. And apparently I have given to you.:

:Trowa, you have given more than you could know! Don't you realize it? The entire castle looks up to you. You have single handedly-:

:Not single handedly. Catherine has gathered information too.:

:But you have done most of the work. You and Catherine have gotten the goods on almost every crooked politician in the entire kingdom. You have given me the means and some of the methods needed in order to run my kingdom properly. Trowa, you have changed this kingdom for the better, and everyone knows it.:

:Then, you are happy with me:

Quatre smiled. :Of course I am.:

:Then I am content.: The forest prince looked out over the now night sky. The stars were beginning to twinkle, and the garden that Trowa loved was silhouetted in darkness. He looked again to the stars. :I am ready: he signed to them.

Quatre joined him, admiring the desert night. :Ready for what:

:My destiny. I had always been afraid of it before, but now that I know it. I will face it.:

:And what is your destiny:

:I will serve you. And I will protect you until my death.:

:Thank you. Trowa: the desert prince said.

* * *

Months passed again. Quatre's nineteenth birthday came and went, and though the countries problems lessened in one extent, they worsened in another. After some subtle pressure from Quatre, several aristocrats resigned their title and passed it on to sons or daughters. The king, now almost perpetually furious, asked his son about the matter.

Quatre would shrink back a little, and then say, "But father, all I did was tell them that when I would become king I would make sure that everyone was living up to their title. It is no my fault if they thought they were unworthy."

King Winner would once again bellow about his private spy, Trowa.

"He has nothing to do with this, father," the prince would reply.

However, this good news was actually bad in disguise. Whoever the chief motivator was in engineering this slow revolt had planned too well. For he had taken into account that someone might come to gather information. So this mastermind simply became subtler. He or she took to more influence over the common people, calling secret rallies and circling vicious rumors. The prince has a spy, the rumors went. He sneaks out at night and learns how best to subjugate the people. If you see him, do not say anything. He is a monster, you see. He can hear whispers in great distances. He may even be able to hear your thoughts. So when you see this forest prince, you will say and do nothing, even think nothing. If he walks up to you and asks you a question, give him no reply, just as he would you in his arrogant and rude foreign mind. And if he persists, then walk away. Do not provoke him by any means.

However, as clever as this usurper of power was, Trowa was more so. Since his stay, Quatre had shown him all the ins and outs of the castle and the city. He could slip into a room with even less notice than before, and the former performer called upon his sister, Catherine, more often. As cook, she gained all sorts of knowledge threw talking to her fellow cooks and by listening to the people she served. Her relationship to Trowa was a little known fact, so her ability to do so was not hindered in the slightest.

As a result of these changes, the information prince Quatre received became less so, but it was not hampered greatly as the mastermind had wanted.

But it did disturb him.

* * *

One day, in the early summer, king Winner called an emergency meeting. The entire family was expected to attend. So when the desert prince entered the council room, he was not surprised to find all twenty-nine of his sisters, the forty Maguanac corps, Catherine, and his assistant, Trowa, crammed around the large room.

It was very noisy, but Quatre had learned from the forest prince not to listen to it and instead to what was being said. He made a note of Iria's and his other sister's positions, what their bodyguards the Maguanacs felt, and where they stood on certain problems. Gathering the information, he filed it and carefully made the necessary altercations to his proposals so that almost everyone would agree with him. Almost.

Quatre's largest problem sat directly opposite him, glaring at him with uncustomary indignation. Actually, Quatre had been expecting it. If his father was worried enough to call an emergency meeting of the immediate family, then he knew enough that his now every opinionated son would want to make suggestions. So be it. Quatre was ready. He had been ready since this meeting was called. Normally when he was summoned by his father, he had a feeling of dread and general dislike as to what would happen. Today, however, he was calm. Detached even. He could not explain it. He sat down next to Trowa with graceful ease.

:Are you nervous: the forest prince asked.

:Oddly enough, no. It is strange. I would think that I would be petrified. But I am not.:

:That is a good thing. It means that you are confident in yourself. You will do well.:

:Thank you.:

"Really, Quatre," Iria said. "I understand that you and that servant have this secret language in which to communicate, but could you please be considerate of we others who may not know it?"

The desert prince nodded. "Forgive me, Iria. Trowa was just telling me that it was a good thing to be confident."

He eldest sister had a confused expression on her face. "Why not say that out loud, little Quatre? It is an innocent enough remark for him to vocalize it, is it not?"

"This is true, but there is enough noise in this room as it is. We did not want to add to it."

Iria nodded. "Then forgive my ignorance. I apologize." Then she added, "My future king."

Anyone in earshot laughed at the remark and it was not long after that the meeting officially began.

"As I'm sure everyone knows," King Winner began. "For the past several years, we've been in he midst of a crisis. Someone has been spreading vicious rumors about our family and reeking havoc somehow on the economy, making it appear as if we are squandering our money. I have talked and talked and talked to the people. However, lately they have claimed that I lie. Clearly, this means that things are starting to spread very far. We must do something. And I have called this meeting so as to listen to suggestions. Who would be first?"

Iria raised her hand and stood. "Father, why not let prince Quatre state his opinion first. In just under a year he will ascend the throne. Why not let him tell us what he thinks in order to find out if he will be a good king?"

Winner cringed noticeably. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you Iria. However, in the midst of such a problem as this we must keep our priorities straight. Fixing this problem comes first, not testing a boy to see if he is yet a man."

Several murmurs came up from the family and Avdul quickly stood up. "But sire! If master Quatre is to be king, then surely he must be allowed this opportunity. We will be able to judge if he is capable or not!"

Several agreeing comments rose.

King Winner thought about it slowly. "Oh, alright. Let the boy speak."

"Thank you, Iria," the prince whispered before standing up. Dozens of expectant faces looked to him, and for a brief moment he wondered if he could do this. That thought disappeared, however, as soon as he opened his mouth. "As I am sure everyone knows by now, for the past year I have been gathering information as to what has been going on. How informed is everyone?"

"Not very," one of his sisters replied. "My estate is pretty remote. Pretend everyone's is."

"As you wish," Quatre answered, bowing slightly to the sister. "My information states that somewhere in the nobility, someone most likely wants our throne. This person, I will assume a he, has made some long and very calculated plans as to go about his goal. They started I think even before I was born-"

"Actually," Iria interrupted. "It started at your birth. Who ever it was must have been upset that there was a definitive heir."

"Really? That helps things somewhat. At any rate. This person began very slowly, spreading some inaccurate rumors among the rest of the nobility and the middle class. They began innocently enough and gradually grew in malice and untruth. While most people did not believe such impossibilities, once told over and over it is at the very least hard to ignore. This evil mind also engineered certain economical crises. Most likely he withheld his money to traders and merchants, claiming that money was tight with a broken economy. As a result of this, he caused many downswings and depressions for our people. We attempted to correct the matter, by talking to the people and by saying that there was nothing wrong. But once a sandstorm starts, it is very difficult to stop.

"This person went further with the rumors and economic problems over the next several years. Do to the ineffectiveness of talking-"

"What!"

"I am sorry, father, but this is an obvious truth. Due to the ineffectiveness of talking, several other nobles caught wind of an impending overthrow and made alliances to secure their positions in the new regime. These people, apparently tired of the total pacifism and all around niceness of our family began taking matters of their own estates into their own hands. These people have since resigned their titles, passing them to better educated children."

"Why on earth did they do that?" Avdul asked.

"Perhaps because I hinted toward the fact that such behavior as theirs would be highly intolerable in my regime."

"You had no right to do that!" King Winner yelled.

Quatre looked to his father, feigned surprise on his face. "Really?" he asked. "I was not aware that there was a rule forbidding a prince to tell fellow nobles his ideas when he was to take the throne. When was that written, father?"

The king muttered something under his breath but otherwise kept quiet.

"As I was saying. This mastermind is indeed a mastermind. He learned how I was gathering my information and took steps to prevent it."

"And how were you getting the information?" someone asked.

"Mostly by my personal assistant, Trowa." Quatre gestured and the servant stood. "He, through his own means, has been getting the information I seek and informing me of it."

"Could one inquire as to how he receives the information?" the same voice asked.

Quatre smiled. "That is simple. He is a deaf/mute."

Several "WHAT!"s erupted from the crowd, King Winner's being among the loudest.

"DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT _THAT_ BOY IS DEAF _AND_ DUMB!"

"My brother is not dumb!" Catherine muttered under her breath. However, she knew enough not to interrupt such and important meeting. However, he face flushed in anger and her eyes narrowed.

Winner glared at the desert prince. "If that boy is a deaf/mute, then what on earth makes you think that _he_ is a reliable source?"

Quatre blinked in surprise. "You mean, you haven't figured it out by now? Haven't you ever noticed the hand gestures he makes and I return to him? Or the fact that he can understand what people are saying? He can read lips. And he has his own language, his own means of communication."

"Prove it!" his father shouted.

Trowa, meanwhile had been writing furiously on a piece of parchment. He got up and walked to his king, bowing as he handed the paper to him. The desert king snatched in and skimmed over it with his eyes.

"What is it?" Quatre asked.

"A transcript of what has just been said for the last several minutes. That means that he is not deaf."

Trowa shook his head and made a gesture.

"He says that he is quiet deaf, father," Quatre answered, almost smugly, knowing something that his father did not. He felt a strange power in confronting his father in this way, in front of the entire family in such a way that they could see just what he could be capable of. It was empowering. "And besides, he is as reliable as they come. Surely even you have noticed that he can slip in and out of a room without notice and read what everyone is saying? He can quote directly from conversations that he 'overhears'. It is not new. He has been doing such things since childhood."

Iria raised her hand tentatively. "So what did the would-be over thrower do to prevent your… uh… assistant from gathering information?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Well," Quatre answered. "He started spreading rumors about Trowa personally, urging people not to talk when he was in the room. That worked only to a small degree, since people often do not notice when one such as this forest prince enters a room, as he does so so quietly. And he was not the only one to gather information. Which was why I asked his sister to accompany me in this meeting. Catherine?"

The former entertainer stood. "Hello. My name is Catherine Bloom, assistant chef in the kitchen."

"You are using a _cook_ as an informant?" Winner fumed.

"I was also a knife thrower and a performer, sire. I know how to manipulate a crowd to do what I want. Would you like a demonstration?" A trace of acid laced her voice left over from the kings remark about her brother being dumb.

"Wait, back up," a Maguanac said. "You're his sister? But you can talk and stuff."

"My brothers disabilities were the result of an illness as a child."

"Both Catherine and Trowa have excellent minds for retaining knowledge," Quatre said. "Both can repeat conversations verbatim and both can easily gather any information that I request. We communicated with each other via Trowa's language to incur security. People did not know what the movement of hands meant, and therefore did not know what we were talking about. And as an added bonus, is we were meeting in secret, not a one could discover our hiding place, since our conversations were, in effect, in silence.

"I have therefore come to the following conclusion. There are three things that we must do. First and foremost, we must begin defending ourselves. This evil nobleman knows that we are onto him, and he is stepping up his plans. We have reason to believe that within months, he will rally the laymen into an out and out revolt."

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!"

"I do not wish to depart from our father's pacifist ideal. Therefore, I propose that we strengthen our defenses. That requires thickening our walls, increasing our security, increasing our combat lessons."

"You just said-"

"By our combat lessons I mean that we must become so proficient in our swordplay that when in combat we will be able to disarm, at worst wound, our opponent. I do not wish to draw blood, and I will not if I can at all help it. Second, I suggest that everyone look to a trusted advisor and start looking for reliable informants. The more information we can dig up on our still unknown adversary the sooner we can disarm him, hopefully before the planned revolt.

"Third, we must do our resolute best to reverse all the years of damage our name has endured. We make a great profit off of the people's efforts. That is part and parcel of a monarchy. But we do not need all the excess that we have. Without hurting ourselves, we can give back plenty of money to the community. We can build more schools, encourage apprenticeships, or improve the conditions of our estates and our cities. There is a plethora of things that we cant to for the benefit of our people."

The desert prince, having said his say, sat down by Trowa.

"Are those acceptable conclusions and suggestions for a future king?"

There was silence. Sister looked to each other, Maguanacs grinned foolishly. All had no idea what to say.

A clap. Then another. Once person was clapping for his prince and his ideas on how to help his wounded country. Those claps became two. Then three. The entire family and the Maguanac corps applauded the desert prince.

"QUIET!"

That was the king.

He stood to his full height, and imposing size that no one else in the room could match, not even the towering Rashid. He walked over to the prince, his closed fists shaking in rage. Several sisters backed away from the man who radiated anger. Even Trowa, ever calm, tensed slightly as the king approached his prince.

"You! You would dare go against my own teachings? You propose the fight? How _dare_ you! No heir is going to endanger the teachings the Winner family has established and practiced for centuries! What do you think you are doing? What do you think this is? A game? A play! You talk of me tarnishing our good name. Well, boy, you would do so far worse than I ever could. No heir is going to disgrace my family, my name, nor my country by such a blasphemous and bloodthirsty act!"

"Father, I would not-"

"I SAID _SILENCE_! You behave nothing like the heir I groomed you to be! Your decisions are poorly made and based upon the supposed ravings of a DEAF/MUTE! You have failed for the last time! I will find ANOTHER heir more appropriate for MY kingdom! Now get out!"

There was finally silence as the meaning of the king's words hit home.

"I said GET OUT!"

Quatre snapped.

The desert prince stood slowly. Though he was small for his age of nineteen, he had a regal heir about him. His face demanded obedience, and his eyes were narrow in a rage of his own.

"Tell me, father," he said, his hands moving fluidly in the language of Trowa as he spoke. "Are you really so afraid of me?"

"WHAT?"

Quatre's voice was very calm, and very quiet. Were it not for the almost deadly silence he would not have been heard. "I am serious," he said. "Do you so fear that I will be a better king than you? Are you so insecure about your own regime? Surely even in your tradition bound mind, you understand deep down that what I have proposed is the best thing to do. I do not think that even you can miss that. So why, I wonder, are you so against my opinions? Why are you so afraid to be wrong? If that is so then you are a coward."

"WHAT?"

"You've already said that, father. I will reiterate. You are a coward. You refuse to defend yourself and you family and you name. You cannot admit when you are wrong; and you will do anything to prove that you are right. You have run out of arguments, father. And I am tired of trying to convince you."

The desert prince turned and moved to leave the conference room.

"Where do you think you are going? We are not finished yet."

Quatre turned to the man, his face blank. "No father. We are."

Trowa got up as well to follow his prince, Catherine not far behind.

"I forbid you to leave!"

Quatre actually laughed. "First you cannot wait for me to go, and now you forbid me to leave? Really father. A king must not be so indecisive."

The desert prince left the family to their own devices.

* * *

Quatre was able to make it to his room before he broke down. Trowa and Catherine were close behind him and knew enough to shut the door so that they would have some privacy.

"What have I done?" the prince asked, burying his head into the nearest shoulder, Trowa's. "I have ruined everything! I am no longer heir! My father now hates me! My sisters probably abhor me! I am the worst being on this earth! Oh, what have I done!" There were several minutes of sobbing and the desert prince let out all the feelings he had hid before his family. The siblings waited until the crying abated. When that happened the prince pulled away and looked to his two best friends. "I apologize deeply for getting you involved in this. I had no idea that father would disinherit me. Any hopes of saving my relationship with him are ruined now. He will never allow my suggestions now."

"Quatre, listen to me," Catherine said gently. "What you did in that room was nothing shy of miraculous. Do you hear me, Quatre? For the first time in your life, you stood up to your father! You did not yell at him. You did not beg him, nor did you plead with him. You told him in simple words exactly what he was doing. Quatre? I do not believe that anyone has ever done that to him. And in front of your family no less! Quatre, you have so much to be proud of this day. I was talking with all of your sisters before you came. You knew that right? Do you have any idea how proud they all are of you? And did you not watch their faces as you stood up to the king? They were beaming! Surely you noticed that, right? Quatre, you cannot question everything you do. If you do that, then you will be a very poor king. You have done good today, accept that!"

Quatre sniffed, smiled, and rubbed his red eyes. "Thank you, Catherine."

Trowa motioned to the desert prince and he looked. :Besides: he said. :I do not ever recall seeing you father say no, did I:

The desert prince's smile suddenly widened.

* * *

_Dearest cousin: _

_I do not wish to trouble you, as you have only been on the throne for just over a year and are undoubtedly still "Settling in", but I write this letter in order to invite you and you bodyguard, Yuy Heero, to my country for a stay. I would hope that during your visit you and Heero could better educate some of the workers in my home in how to skillfully manipulate the blade. _

_An ulterior motive fore this letter is because danger is brewing in my country, and I must take steps to prevent it, hence the summoning of the two finest warriors of your country. Please be so kind as to not mention this to either fathers, so that things could be concealed enough as to arouse no suspicion in the more suspect parts of my home. _

_I appreciate you consideration of this offer, and hope to hear from you directly. _

* * *

_Quatre Raberba Winner._

* * *

In Duo's home, is was early spring, and as such, he and his bodyguard Heero were able to travel by sea, making the journey in the two weeks that Quatre had taken a year ago. Once there, the pair were greeted warmly by cousin Quatre and were soon put to work in giving proper lessons to the members of the castle in sword fighting. Such lessons had always been part and parcel of growing up in Quatre's country. However, it was a ceremonial sport that was quickly forgotten once family had left for their estates. Now, the Maguanacs and the sisters redoubled their efforts; relearning old skills and improving them with the gentle tutelage of Duo; strengthening their bodies and quickening their movements under the cold glares of Heero. It proved to be a winning combination.

Outside the classroom, the castle walls were strengthened, as per Quatre's suggestion. Several other modification were made, at the expert suggestions of Heero, as he planned the proper defense of the castle. Trowa and Catherine slowly brought in more people to their little intelligence circle. Diversity and variety were what was needed; and it was not long before all of the recruits knew the rudimentary grammar of Trowa's sign language. Information started to come in the familiar larger bursts that Trowa had been able to gather before his reputation had been attacked. Catherine was put in charge of organizing the information and Trowa continued his quiet observation. Before hand he had ventured little outside the castle aside from familiarizing himself with the city. Now he traversed the streets in silent confidence, dressed in his old performers outfit and performing tricks. People would throw him coins, and upon learning that he was a deaf/mute, go about their business in sufficient security that no one would understand them. Such a new resource created a wealth of information. And as the days passed, Quatre's circle carefully pieced together the information of when and how the staged attack would occur as he and his family prepared for it.

One day, Catherine came running into Quatre's room with a smile on her face. "We have her! We have her!"

The desert prince blinked, and Trowa stopped his tutelage of a new recruit, one beggar named Une.

:Who do you have: her brother asked.

:We know who the traitor is! We finally figured out who's been pulling the strings: Catherine said excitedly. It was several minutes before she could compose herself enough not to talk while she signed.

:Please do not leave us in suspense, Catherine: Quatre said.

:We finally have a name to match the face. Her name is Dorothy. Dorothy Catalonia. She entered the nobility when she was ten, an orphan. Her parents had been attacked by nomadic thieves and killed. She blamed king Winner for his pacifist beliefs, but out of pity, he promoted her to the higher aristocracy. She's been planning this since Quatre's birth, as Iria said. Dorothy has a small army of helpers. We don't have all the names yet, but we will by the end of the month.:

:That may be too late: Trowa said. :My information suggests that the attack on the castle will occur within the next weeks. Her underlings will begin rallies at various points of the city and insight them to riot. That is when they will storm the castle.:

Une rose her hand. "You are all going a little fast for me."

Quatre smiled gently. He signed as the talked. "I'm sorry about that. This information is very important. The three of us have been speaking this language much longer than you. I will explain everything when it is over, is that alright?"

"You had better not," Une replied. "My knowledge of the information may make me a liability to you. It would be best if I were kept in the dark. Tell me when you feel it best."

Quatre's smile widened. :Thank you: he said.

:You are welcome: she replied. :I will take my leave now.: "I would not want to catch a stray word."

:Very true. Come back in an hour.:

"As you wish."

The desert prince turned back to the chattering siblings. :So what exactly is going on:

:We are finally starting to get a detailed picture. The attack will occur within the next two weeks. After that, Dorothy will approach the king and suggest that it may be best for the people if he stepped down. Her arguments would be compounded by the recent attack and then for good measure, the killing of you in battle. Grief stricken, he would concede. She has already skillfully manipulated those noble politicians to let her take the throne.:

:End game.: Trowa finished for his sister.

:Is there anyway we can stop it? I do not want my family and myself fighting my own people.:

Trowa shook his head. :It would be best if you did. Your father has been stressing pacifism to a fault. You need to demonstrate to the laymen just what your definition of pacifism means-fighting without bloodshed.:

:But: Quatre protested. :Can I really fight against my own people:

A brief smile touched the forest princes' lips. :A rule of human nature. When faced with battle of life and death; all people will choose life, at the expense of others if needs be. We have been teaching your family the proper way to fight in accordance with your teachings. Now you must teach the people.:

* * *

Two weeks later to the day, the rally began. Trowa, in his performers guise, watched three separate rallies occurring in the city. Confirmed by several of the new recruits, Quatre and his circle took steps. He notified his sisters and the Maguanacs, who had been on alert the duration of the wait. Iria in court casually suggested a fencing match, to see who would best whom. Everyone conveniently agreed, and quickly gathered their swords for such a "contest". Everyone was invited except for king Winner. To him, Quatre sent a fake messenger, telling Winner to be elsewhere immediately, so that he would be out of the way when the attack started. The number of patrolmen on the castle walls quietly doubled, and soon it was nothing more than a waiting game.

Two hours passed. The Maguanacs grew weary of the pretend fighting, and the sisters were getting tired of their imitated "oohs" and "aahs". But over the wall, they all observed the climax of Dorothy's plans. Almost the entire population of the city came filtering through the streets, shouting foul slogans and their faces red in excitement.

"Boy," Duo muttered. "That Dorothy chick can really plan a riot. I hope no one in MY kingdom is dumb enough to do that."

:I doubt it: Trowa replied as he watched. :You are a good king. You are close to the people and you care about what they care about.:

"What about what?" Duo asked. The mountain prince was still uncertain of his knowledge of Trowa's sign language.

"He was complimenting you," Heero said solemnly. "Now watch. This is where they get a ram."

Quatre looked to Duo's bodyguard. "The 'ram'?"

"Look."

True to his prediction, the people, angered by the lack of reply to their shouts, produced a battering ram to smash the castle walls.

"Let them in now!" Heero shouted. His order was obeyed, and the gates creaked loudly as they opened to the surprised public.

"Well? What are we waiting for?" someone shouted. Most likely a flunky of Dorothy's. "They're giving us free reign, let's get them!" Several similar calls followed and it was not long before the rioters made their way into the castle.

"Now! Close the gates!" The rope was cut and the gate slammed shut, leaving only half of the mob inside the castle. Heero looked to his comrades. "I believe that is an appropriate number for you and your castle."

:Quite adequate, friend Heero: Trowa signed. :I applaud your stratagem. I hope that we will never do this again.:

"Agreed. Ikkou." Heero drew his extended nodatchi as Duo reached for his scythe and Quatre his rapier.

"Let the last battle begin," Quatre muttered. "And may Allah be merciful to me." The five ran down the seemingly endless stairs to the middle of the fray. The plan had been played out. All that was left was the battle.

It was a lost cause for the would-be rebels. The entire population of the castle had been preparing for this. Those with no skill with the sword fought in other ways, locking out certain wings of the castle, leading the rioters to more trained swordsmen and women, as well as hiding themselves expertly. The mobsters themselves were poorly trained in combat, as king Winner disapproved of such teachings as anything other than sport. And mob violence could never match up to a plan of attack. It basically amounted to several drunken or enraged laymen wielding sticks and stones that were quickly disarmed by either the Maguanacs, Quatre's sisters, or the desert prince and his circle. Mixed into the group were some members of the middle class with moderate skill. Had they been training in advance, however, like the desert prince and his family had, they would have stood a better match.

Quatre himself disarmed several rioters. He found himself oddly comfortable in such a situation. In the battle, there was no room for doubt, no room for second guesses. However, the desert prince was guarded enough so as he never once drew blood. This was the true meaning of pacifism, he realized. To fight for honor and not for blood. To defend you people by giving them tough love. Talking was not always the best solution, as his father had so adamantly argued. It was a first resort, but not the only resort. For the people who only understood war, for the people who knew nothing else, there was this style of fighting. The desert prince reveled in it as he realized it's effectiveness. As the prince fought he began planning his new regime around these ideals, these simple facts.

But such thoughts did distract him from fighting. One brutish individual twice the prince's size managed to slip around Quatre's defenses and seized the youth. Caught by surprise, the desert prince could only gasp as the huge oaf began to squeeze the life out of the young man.

But, quicker than Quatre had ever dreamed, Trowa and Catherine were upon the brute. The forest prince pried the desert prince out of the giants grip as Catherine held a knife to the man's throat.

"Just because they play by the rules does not mean that I do," the performer said, acid laced in her voice. "Remember, I am a foreigner and have no compulsions about killing an uneducated bore such as you. Do you understand?" the knife thrower asked. He now petrified oaf nodded slightly.

"Good. Because I was not serious then. If you do that again, you will truly understand the meaning of such a word. Now get out of here."

The brute did so, screaming like a girl. Quatre meanwhile was agape at the forest prince.

:What are you doing here: he asked hurriedly. :You know nothing of swords:

A smile touched Trowa's lips. :Only a coward would leave himself out of this battle. Besides, I would protect and serve you until my death. Do you not remember those words:

Quatre smiled. :Of course I do.: The desert prince would have elaborated, but they were in the middle of a battle, and it was no long before the two were again separated.

Somewhere along the way, the desert prince noticed that he had fought his way to the throne room. Had the battle progressed so far? He defeated his current adversary and looked around. The light drapes that had always swung in the desert breeze had been torn, and the throne itself had been tipped over. He was not the first one here.

"What on earth is going on!" a voice demanded.

"Father?" Quatre turned to see the king gaping at him, rapier in hand. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to be gone when the fighting started!"

"You knew about this? And you let it happen?" King Winner walked down the steps leading to the throne. "How could you let such a thing happened? What kind of an heir are you?" The king's voice rose several octaves as he entered into his fighting voice.

Quatre, however, had little time for trivial matters. "Father, I have no time to explain what is going on right now! Half the city is inside the gates and wishing for blood!"

"But are they really?" a third voice said. A women's voice. From behind the tattered drapes came a young woman, about Quatre's age, with rapier in hand. She had an elegant beauty about her, her blond locks hand down almost to her knees. "They are merely tired of the old regime, and wish to see a new one. Mine."

"So you are Dorothy Catalonia," the prince whispered.

"I am."

"What is going on here! I demand an explanation, boy!" Winner strode over to Quatre. "What are you doing to my country?"

"Your majesty, it is no longer your country," Dorothy said. "In fact, it is no longer and Winner's country. What this is; is MY country." The would-be queen raised her sword and raced for the king, determined to secure her victory. But she once again underestimated Quatre, who by now had grown into a fine swordsman. He pushed his father aside and blocked what would have been a fatal blow to the king.

So the duel began. The desert prince and the noble warrioress were evenly matched. And the fight was long and tiresome for both sides as king Winner watched in mute awe.

"I will avenge my parents!" Dorothy finally shouted. "And I will make this country strong for them!" With renewed zealous, she again charged the exhausted Quatre. And again the prince blocked the blow. "What is wrong, highness?" she asked in a mocking air. "Why do you not finish me off? You are clearly of better skill and yet you refuse to give a final blow! What weakness of yours does this stem from?"

"This is not weakness you see but strength!" Quatre shouted. "My strength comes from my beliefs. And my beliefs are in my fathers pacifism and in my own kindness. Trowa has taught me the difference between fighting for revenge and for love of battle and fighting to defend my beliefs. It is my beliefs that give me the strength to fight!"

Dorothy swung her sword high. Quatre moved to block it, realizing only at the last moment that it was a faux move. Dorothy's sword embedded itself in his shoulder, causing the desert prince to scream as newfound pain exploded in his body.

"And look what your 'beliefs' have given you!" Dorothy shouted. "A disapproving father who hates you, and blood on a sword."

"My beliefs have made me strong. And I will not go against them. Look at your plans, Dorothy." Quatre faltered as the woman wrenched her sword in his body, new waves of pain washing over him. "Your plans have availed to nothing. The people have watched this entire castle defend itself without spilling one drop of blood. We have disarmed not only the people, but the hold you had over them. The Winners are no longer seen as uncaring, aloof aristocrats. Were that true, there surely would have been deaths. Instead, they see how deeply we are concerned for them, and how desperate we are to show them we will take care of them. You have failed, Dorothy. Can you not see that?"

"I will see nothing until you are DEAD!" The blond woman yanked her rapier out of Quatre and moved to give the final blow. The desert prince was ready for it. He only hoped that his father would eventually forgive him.

But oddly, the blow never came. Instead, the prince heard a shattering clang, and saw the aristocrat's sword clatter to the ground. Looking up weakly, he saw king Winner holding a sword to Dorothy's throat.

"There has been enough foolishness in this castle to last for several lifetimes," the king said. "I will end it now. You are beaten Dorothy." The king lowered his sword and Duo and Heero appeared to take her away. When had they shown up? Quatre looked around and found in fact, several familiar faces had entered the throne room. And also familiar faces of those in battle. The rioters. Were they watching the battle? For how long?

Such questions were meant to be left unanswered for the moment, however, as king Winner threw his arms around the desert prince. "My boy! Can you ever forgive me, son? I have been so stupid for so long! Oh, Quatre, by darling boy! I am so sorry."

"You called me son," Quatre whispered. "You had never called me son." Relief in its purest form washed over Quatre as he hugged his father in return, the pain he was feeling somehow gone. For the first time in years, the desert prince felt warmth in the embrace of his father. It felt good.

He did not know how long he stayed like that. But finally he broke from his father, turning and looking around at the family he so loved. But someone was missing.

"Has anyone seen Trowa?" he asked. The Maguanac and his sisters looked around. It was very natural for the silent forest prince to go unnoticed, but Quatre had always known when he was in a room. Now that they looked around, Trowa was nowhere to be found. Catherine was also missing.

Duo came up to his cousin, looking at the desert prince's wound. "You'd better have that treated," he said, concern in his eyes.

"I will," the desert prince replied. "Just as soon as I find Trowa."

"Hey, man, that could take hours, knowing him. You need to get that looked at now." The mountain prince ripped some of his shirt and carefully wrapped the desert prince's shoulder.

"It shouldn't take that long, cousin," Quatre said lightly. "If he's not here, then I know where he is." Slowly, he got up. His cousin supported him, if somewhat against his moving around. However, the mountain prince knew his cousin well enough to know when not to object.

"Okay, where would he be?" he asked.

"The garden. It reminds him of his beloved forest. Catherine will most likely be with him as well."

"Whatever you say." Duo help Quatre to his destination, Heero and king Winner not far behind.

* * *

It was in the garden that they did indeed find Trowa. Catherine was with the forest prince, just as the desert prince had predicted. However, she was crying over her brother's body as it lay under the tree. Duo's tree, his favorite tree in all the garden.

"Trowa!" Blinded by shock, Quatre let go of his cousin and stumbled to the forest prince. "Trowa!" :Trowa! Oh, no! Trowa, what happened: The desert prince took the forest prince almost possessively out of Catherine's arms. Trowa was bleeding in his abdomen; clear marks that a sword was too fast even for the nimble performer. His sharp, beautiful face that Quatre had loved to stare at was now pale, and his eyes somewhat glazed as they stared off to space. The bark colored hair hung limp and sweaty against his forehead. :Trowa.:

Gently, lovingly, Quatre traced his delicate finger down the forest prince's jaw line, whishing desperately that he had not allowed the fight, not allowed things to go as far as they did.

Suddenly, the eyes focused, and Trowa looked to the desert prince. He hands tried to move, but there was no strength to say the words he so wanted to.

:Quatre…:

"Trowa! Please, do not try to talk!" Catherine shouted. "You have to conserve your strength! Please, Triton, do not die on me! Or I will hate you forever!"

:Not…true: Trowa managed.

"Shut up, Triton! Listen to your sister!"

:Yes, Trowa, listen to your sister. You have to conserve your energy so that you can get better. We won, Trowa! You have to get better so that we can celebrate:

The forest prince moved to sign again, but this time it hurt him too much. He hissed in pain as his face contorted.

"Trowa! Trowa, stop right now! Do no try to talk!" the desert prince pleaded.

:A…beautiful voice: was Quatre's reply. :You sound…beautiful.:

"Trowa?"

The forest prince slowly put his hand to his throat, an odd smile on his face. "K-k…" he started. It was agony that was written on his face, but the silent boy who said so much continued. "Qua…tre." What a magnificent voice! It was a deep, majestic tenor voice. He would have been an excellent singer. There were such tones and knowledge in that voice. Such love in that word. It was a voice given only to Allah! What beauty it had.

But alas, Allah's gifts do not come without a price.

"Trowa? Trowa! Allah, be merciful, _Trowa_!"

* * *

It was only two months later when prince Quatre Raberba Winner was coroneted. King Winner the Pacifist proudly gave his son the crown. And with great elegance, the now desert king accepted it. King Duo Maxwell and his bodyguard Yuy Heero were there, along with his entire family, the Maguanacs, and the people he was to rule. It was the first time in his country's history that a coronation was made public.

And to his people, he had this to say:

"Blessed Allah has granted us many gifts. Two months ago I was given the opportunity to prove to you that the Winner family has not declined in power, but has instead strengthened itself. I will do everything in my power to do what I can for the people. Not just the aristocrats and the nobles, but all the people. I have beliefs and they will become my policy.

"This would not be possible today were it not for one young man. He was a deaf/mute, with the inability to neither hear or to use his voice. But this is not to say that he could not speak. To me and to those close to him, he spoke volumes. He had the intelligence, the heart, and the wisdom to guide me on the right path to be king. He shaped me and prepared me for this job far more than any teacher could.

"It was this young man, a forest prince, who sniffed out a traitor in our ranks. An unlucky woman who had had bad things happen to her. The forest prince saved my kingdom. Our kingdom. And he died doing so."

A falter. A tear. A deep breathe. "Every so often a king will take a name. My father was known as king Winner the Pacifist. There have been the Marvelous, the First, the Great, and the Wise. I will be known as King Quatre. The Sorrowful. I will mourn the death of the forest prince. And I will mourn for him the rest of my life. And every year on this day, it will be a day of mourning.

"From the forest prince, I learned not to hate my kindness. From the forest prince, I have learned to fight without bloodshed. From the forest prince, I have learned how to be a king. And from him, I will hope you would one day learn what a great man he was."

King Quatre the Sorrowful stepped down, knowing full well that his people were crying for him. And knowing full well that he forest prince was watching him.

He hoped he approved.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
